


Reunion

by ZoeSong



Series: Always a Stark [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sansa-Sandor Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-02 17:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeSong/pseuds/ZoeSong
Summary: Someone unexpected arrives at Winterfell.





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UnderTheSkyline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheSkyline/gifts), [swimmingfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingfox/gifts).



> One in an occasional series of one-shots about Sansa Stark's life during and after Season 6 of Game of Thrones.
> 
> My thanks to UnderTheSkyline for her feedback on this story.

~~

Sansa stood in the great hall, looking over a small group of visitors. She had been told that their leader was Lord Beric Dondarrion. Although he was scarred and wore an eye patch, there was something about him that she recognized. 

The newcomers were escorted in by loyal men whom Jon had left to guard Winterfell. He had given Sansa command of them while he and a group of men went to secure the Dreadfort. Together they had ordered that anyone who came into the castle must leave their weapons at the gate if they were not already loyal bannermen.

The man bowed courteously. “Lady Stark, thank you for receiving us.” 

“Lord Beric. It is good to see you again.”

“Again? Do you know me?”

“I remember you from the great tournament in King’s Landing in honor of my father. And he spoke highly of you. He said you were the most honorable man in Westeros.”

“I am honored, my lady. Such words from your father are high praise indeed. What they did to him was a travesty. I was deeply sorry to hear it.” He looked genuinely sorrowful.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“You have a good memory – that was long ago and you were but a child, were you not?”

“Yes. But everything I saw in King’s Landing is etched into my memory.”

“Indeed. It must have been terrible for you.” 

Sansa nodded, and shook off the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. “What brings you so far north?”

“We know of the great danger – the evils north of the wall. We came to lend our arms – and other skills – to the fight.” 

“My brother – and the men of the Night’s Watch – will be glad to hear this.” 

“Well, we are but a small force, but we seek to help where we can. We had hoped to speak to your brother.”

“He is away with some of his men just now. But he is expected back very soon. You – and your men – are welcome here.” She glanced over the group who stood in the hall, and gasped at what she saw.

“My lady, are you all right?” Beric stepped forward and took her arm to steady her. “You look as if you’ve a seen a ghost.”

Sansa tried to calm herself. “And so perhaps I have. I was told a certain man was dead, and yet here he stands in my hall.”

Lord Beric had glanced to where she was looking. “Ah, yes, Sandor Clegane. I assure you, my lady, the ‘Hound’ is indeed dead. Clegane is no longer a Lannister dog – he has ridden with us and fought for justice along the way. He means you no harm.”

Sansa stared into Sandor Clegane’s eyes, saw him blink and give a slight nod, and she breathed more easily. “I have no doubt of that.” She nodded back at Clegane and the others, then turned back to Lord Beric. “But I am discourteous – letting you stand here in the hall, dripping and cold. Please, come warm yourselves at our fires. I will send for food and drink.”

“You are most gracious, my lady.” Lord Beric bowed and turned away to give orders.

 

~~

 

Sansa returned to the hall distributing furs to some of the men. She took the last of them and approached the chair where Sandor Clegane seemed to be dozing over his wine. “Those who sit farthest from the fire are given furs for extra warmth,” she said as she gently laid it over him. 

“Oh, aye?” He looked up in surprise, his mouth quirking. “I’m no fonder of the flames than before.”

“I understand.” She suppressed a shudder at the horrors that haunted her own peace of mind. She sat down opposite him and just sat watching him.

“I’m no prettier than when you last saw me, little bird.”

Sansa looked down, embarrassed. “Please, forgive me, I did not mean to stare. It’s just…you. You’re alive.”

“Aye, just about.”

Sansa was trying to be patient, trying not to be discourteous as he rested and warmed himself. But she could wait no longer. “Please. Brienne – the woman who said she’d killed you – she told me that you were traveling with my sister. Have you seen her?”

Sandor’s eyes seemed to soften, and he shook his head slowly. “Not since she left me for dead.”

Sansa was startled. “She didn’t try to help you?”

“Nothing she could do. Thought I was done for. Took the silver and a horse and left. Wouldn’t even give me mercy.”

“Mercy? You mean…but she’s not a killer.”

“Might be that you’d not know her now. The Riverlands are a dangerous place. We killed plenty. Had to to survive.”

Sansa looked down at her hands, twisted in her lap. “Yes. I have had to do things to survive as well.”

He made a rumbling sort of sound in his chest, as if in agreement.

“Then you’ve no idea where she went? Brienne tracked her to Saltpans, but no farther.”

“Aye, we spoke of going across the sea, since I couldn’t take her to your aunt. But we’d no plan; only to take whatever ship was there.”

“I see.”

“I'm sorry, little bird.”

She nodded slowly. They sat in silence for a little while. Then, an impulse moved her. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For protecting her.”

He grunted in a noncommittal way. 

“Why did you?”

“For the ransom, at first. Thought I’d get her to your brother, get a reward, go across the sea. But then they killed him – nearly got us too – and I had to think again.”

“You were there – at the wedding?” Sansa’s heart was in her throat.

“Nearly. Got her out just in time.”

“You could have sold her to the Freys. But you didn’t.”

“No, I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Scheming cunts.” His face wrinkled in disgust. “So I thought of your aunt in the Vale. But they told us she was dead, so we left.”

“And I was there when you came. But you had no way to know that.” And Sansa knew that if the Hound had brought Arya to the Eyrie, Petyr would have used her just as he’d used Sansa. “I should have gone with you when you asked me in King’s Landing. I’ve often regretted that.”

“Is that so, little bird?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. She swallowed and took a deep breath. “Then Arya and I would be together. And I wouldn’t have….” She shook her head and turned away.

“Wouldn’t have had to marry the Imp.”

Sansa looked back to him in surprise. “No.” She’d given little thought to Tyrion for some time. She was quiet for some time, thinking. 

She must have been frowning, for Sandor made a grunt of displeasure. “What did he do to you?”

“Tyrion? Nothing. He was kind, patient. He said we would wait until I was older, until I knew him better.”

“Did he? Wouldn’t expect that.”

“At the time I was mortified to be married to him. But at least I was spared being wed to Joffrey. I thought there could be no one worse than him. But when I was wed to Ramsay….” She could not speak of it. 

The Hound didn’t press her, but there was something in his eyes that made Sansa think that he would have liked to have gutted Ramsay. 

“You’ve changed, little bird.” 

“So have you.” They exchanged a long, studied look. “But I keep you from your rest. And I must see to supper.”

“You look as though you could use some rest yourself.”

Sansa grimaced. “I don’t believe I will ever truly rest again.” 

His face changed as he acknowledged this – there was a hint of sorrow in his eyes. Sansa raised her chin in response. While she appreciated his sympathy, she knew that in another moment she would break down. She nodded at him, rose from her chair, and strode toward the kitchens.

She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away.

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/HG7fVVs)

~~

Note: This may be a little raw. I am just posting these as they come to me without much editing or revision. Thanks for your patience and interest.


	2. Sworn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hound makes an offer to Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One in an occasional series of one-shots or loosely related chapters about Sansa Stark's life during and after Season 6 of Game of Thrones. It was started over a year ago when Season 6 ended, and pretty much ignores what’s going on in Season 7. 
> 
> Thanks to UnderTheSkyline for her story and character feedback

~~

 

Sansa stood on the walkway overlooking the training yard. Below, the Hound and the other of Lord Beric’s men sparred with Jon’s men. 

Resting for a moment, Tormund looked up from his match with Clegane and winked at her. She smiled. Tormund had been nothing but respectful to her, so she didn’t take it amiss. She didn’t know if Jon had said something to him, if he kept his distance out of respect for Jon, or if his heart was set on Brienne, whom he spoke of often. Brienne had not yet returned, and Sansa worried for her. 

Following Tormund’s look, the Hound turned around and noticed Sansa. A hint of a smile played on his lips, and he nodded to her, then returned to his sparring. He and Tormund were well matched, she noted. 

After a time, she turned and walked to the godswood. It was still the only place where no one disturbed her as she worked out the demons that haunted her, or simply made more plans for the castle and its people. 

On her way back, she found the Hound waiting for her just inside the wall to the keep.

“Cold day for prayer. Might be better inside.” He glanced towards the sept. 

“If it weren’t destroyed. Not that I pray anyway. But you’re right, it is cold today. Let us go in.”

The snow crunched under their feet as they walked to the hall. She wondered why he had waited for her. 

Suddenly he stopped. “Little bird.”

She stopped just ahead of him and turned back to face him. “Yes?”

“I could go and look for your sister.”

Her heart swelled. “You would do that?”

“Aye. Bring her home.”

“But you don’t know where she is. She could be anywhere, so you said.”

“Aye, that’s so. But I could search. Pentos, Braavos, Tyrosh.”

“It’s a long way to go. And they are big cities.”

“I'm a big man. I could do it.”

She stood there, staring at him in wonder. “Why? Why would you do this? You owe nothing to the Starks.”

He stared intensely into her eyes for a moment and she saw why. 

She turned sharply away from him, stricken. He wanted her. Like all the other men who looked at her with those eyes. Except that he at least offered her something that she valued above all else: her sister’s life. But her horror of those terrible months with Ramsay made her physically sick. She couldn’t give the Hound what he wanted any more than she could the numerous men whom she knew would have asked for her hand if she’d given them opportunity.

“Little bird.”

She turned slowly around, fighting to pull her face back to neutrality. “I can’t give you what you want.”

His eyes softened. Strange, when she thought they’d show disappointment. Had she misread his look? “I don’t want anything _from_ you. Just the right to serve you. I could be your sworn shield, at least until that – that woman returns.”

Now she was stricken in a different way. Could there be someone besides Brienne who simply wanted to serve her? Who didn’t want anything from her but to stand beside her? She took a deep breath. “It would be a terrible long trip, and you might not find her at all.”

“Better than fighting what’s up north.”

She looked at him with surprise. Beric had said that Clegane had fought for justice in the Riverlands. And she knew he was no coward.

The Hound grimaced. “Beric says we’ll need to use fire to fight those monsters. You know how I feel about that.”

Sansa nodded slowly at him, then stopped and shook her head. “But I can’t ask you to do this when I offer nothing in return.”

“You aren’t asking – I’m offering. And you’ve done more for me than you know. You saved me.”

“Saved you? How? It was you who saved me, more than once.”

His face showed regret. “Not as I should. But I don’t mean that kind of saving. When everyone else saw me as the Lannisters’ dog, you treated me like a person. Thinking of that saved me from despair when I lay there dying. And gave me the heart to live when they were tending me.”

Sansa stared at him. She had not imagined that he thought of her at all after they had last met. “I’m glad I helped you in some way then.” 

He nodded, a slight smile quirking around his mouth.

“I will speak to Jon about it. No one wants Arya back more than he does, but he may prefer you to stay here to help defend Winterfell. Not that you aren’t free to do as you like, of course.”

“It will be as you say.” The Hound nodded brusquely, then dipped his head slightly and turned on his way.

Sansa stared after him, still wondering at his loyalty to her and her house.

 

~~

 

Sansa spoke to Jon that evening. 

“Sandor Clegane has offered to serve our house. He would go searching for Arya.”

“He has?” Jone turned to her with concern in his eyes. “He hasn’t pressured you for anything else, has he?”

“No, not at all. He just offered. He wants to help – I think he feels a bit guilty that he didn’t do more to help me in King’s Landing, and wishes he could have brought Arya home as he had intended.”

“Do you trust him, then? He seems a good man, despite his past.”

“Yes. He never harmed me, and he saved me from – well, you know all of that.”

Jon nodded. “If you want him to do this, then I won’t argue.”

“But you think it’s folly?”

“Perhaps. There’s no telling where Arya could be. Or she could be….” 

“I know.”

“Sansa, you know I want her back. And I feel if she survived that long in the Riverlands there’s a good chance she might still be alive.”

“I think that too.”

“But the truth is, Clegane is useful to me here. He is excellent at training men – few challenge the strongest men like he does.”

Sansa knew that he was right.

“And, I don’t want scare you, but if the White Walkers come south of the Wall, it may be no safer here for her than it is wherever she may be.”

“I know.” Sansa nodded solemnly. “And she may not come with him even if he does find her. She may not believe him that we’ve retaken Winterfell.”

“If he’s not heading north to fight at the Wall, then I’d feel better with him here helping to defend this place.”

“I thought you might think so. He also offered to be my sworn shield, since Brienne hasn’t returned.”

“Good. I would be glad of that.”

“There is something else. After all he has done to protect me and Arya, I would like to be able to call him something other than ‘The Hound.’ It seems so disrespectful. He should be ‘Ser Sandor.’ Would you knight him?”

“I can knight people?” 

Sansa laughed lightly. “You are King in the North. Of course you can. People will seek it.”

“Good. I’ll knight him – and Tormund. Imagine how he’ll laugh if people call him ‘Ser Tormund.’”

Sansa smiled. “Lord Glover will shit himself.” 

Jon looked at her in surprise, then laughed. “Never thought I’d hear you swear.”

Sansa blushed. She’d never used that sort of language before. “I’ve been around too many coarse men. Strange how few fine ladies have found their way to Winterfell.”

He chuckled wryly. “Nor are they likely to.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll not make it a habit. But will you seriously think about Sandor Clegane?”

“I will. I meant what I said. I doubt Tormund will want such an honor, but you are right that Clegane deserves it, and it will make the men who doubt him respect him more if I knight him.”

“He may not want it himself. He always shunned it before. But I will point out the advantages.”

 

~~

 

Sansa was right that the Hound resisted. But she managed to convince him.

And so, on a gray and snowy morning, Sandor Clegane found himself keeping vigil. But he would not be anointed by the Seven, for Jon preferred the old gods. Sandor cared not for the old gods or the new. He considered himself anointed by a different sort of goddess – one in the form of a she-wolf, though to him she would always be his little bird.

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be a little raw. While I started this story over a year ago, I am posting it now without much editing or revision. Thanks for your patience and interest.


	3. The Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with the ghosts of her past, Sansa receives unexpected support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One in an occasional series of one-shots or loosely related chapters about Sansa Stark's life during and after Season 6 of Game of Thrones. It was started over a year ago when Season 6 ended, and pretty much ignores what’s going on in Season 7.
> 
> This was inspired by a conversation and suggestion from UnderTheSkyline. Thanks to her also for story and character feedback.

~~ 

 

Sansa was suddenly overwhelmed. She turned, ignoring the solicitous inquiries of the servants, and ran. Out into the hallway, which wasn’t enough. Down the staircase to the landing and a slit window. Not enough. Finally, out into the courtyard, where she stood panting. 

Still not enough. So she hurried to the godswood. And vomited behind a tree. Stumbled a little farther, then sank to her knees in the snow. Tried hard not to let tears overtake her.

She had thought it was over. That she would get better, stronger. Instead, it seemed only to get worse. How could that be?

A crunch in the snow behind her. Ramsay! She turned in fear. 

She released a breath in relief. It was the Hound – no, Ser Sandor. Now that he was knighted, she seemed not to be able to think of him with his new title after all.

“Little bird. All right now?”

She turned away from him. No one should see her like this. Shaking, weak, defeated.

“What happened?”

She lacked even the strength to tell him to leave her. She swallowed hard. Heard him draw closer. 

“Here.”

She turned again and saw he held out a flask to her. She looked at him in question.

“To rinse your mouth. You needn’t drink it.”

Tentatively, she took the flask, her hands shaking. He’d uncasked it for her. She took a little swig, swished it around her mouth. Made a face. It was sour. Turned away from him and spat it out.

When she turned around again, he was holding out a handkerchief. Moved at his kindness, she took it from him, blotting her mouth delicately. “Thank you. I will have it washed and returned it to you.” She handed him the flask.

“No need.” He put away the flask, then extended his hand. At first she thought confusedly that he wanted the handkerchief back, but then realized he was offering to help her stand. She took his hand.

Rising, she released his hand and straightened her dress. And shivered. She’d rushed out without a cloak and had not noticed the cold until now.

He moved suddenly, and the next thing she knew his cloak was about her. 

“Thank you.” She should say more than that, but had not the words. He would be cold – he should go in. They both should. But she couldn’t. She should explain. But how could she? 

“Seen a ghost, did you?”

She looked up into his eyes and saw understanding there. She nodded slowly.

“It will be like that sometimes. When you think you’re strongest, even.”

Confused, she continued to stare. 

“Can’t avoid fire, you know. It’s everywhere.”

Of course. He knew. He had lived it, though a different terror than hers. She nodded again. Then attempted to speak. “It was…it was…” She swallowed hard. “Our bedroom. My prison. It had been my own room once.” She wondered if Ramsay had known that and chosen it deliberately; she knew that Theon might have told him. 

The Hound nodded. 

“I thought I could go in there now. We were cleaning it. Everything from before is gone, but it didn’t matter.” She’d glanced at the latch on the window and that was all it had taken. How many times had she stared from that window, and in her darkest moments, wished she could throw herself from it? And in her more hopeful moments, prayed that Stannis or someone would take the castle and free her? Odd that she’d put her faith in Stannis in King’s Landing as well. He’d failed both times. Ultimately she’d had to free herself. “It was the window latch.”

“Aye. Like that. But you don’t have to go in there.”

“No. But he’s everywhere when I think about it. He’s fouled this place.”

Clegane grimaced. “But you’ve done much to unfoul it. Give it more time. It will get better. Easier.”

“But it doesn’t ever go away?”

“Seems not. But it’s better when you’re busy, thinking of other things. As when I was building that sept in the Riverlands.”

She glanced back towards the inner ward. “I haven’t any faith anymore. Else I should see to repairing the sept.”

“Not what I meant, but aye, that might be a good thing to do. Could start repairs on that old keep. Might come in handy if people come to shelter here.”

“Yes.” She looked at the First Keep thoughtfully, then turned back to him. Strange that such a rough man who used to terrify her could offer her such comfort and understanding. “Thank you.”

He just nodded, then offered her his arm. Hesitating for a moment, she took it, allowing herself the luxury of accepting more of his strength.

He walked her back to the Great Keep, and when they were inside by the fire, she handed his cloak back to him. He accepted it wordlessly, nodded, and went his way.

Sansa stood staring after him for a moment before going up to her solar. She made a decision – she would have the servants clean the room and lock it up. She did not need to go in there again.

Then she went to the builders and began to arrange the repairs to the First Keep.

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be a little raw. While I started this over a year ago, I am posting it now without much editing or revision. Thanks for your patience and interest.
> 
> Thanks to UnderTheSkyline for her research on what was destroyed at Winterfell when Ramsay took it. The First Keep is an old tower that was not in use anymore and was damaged when Winterfell was sacked, and the Great Keep is where the family lives. I was mentally using the map [here](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Winterfell) when thinking of where Sansa might have run to. 
> 
> And I sort of painted myself into a corner by having Sandor knighted in the last chapter; when it came to calling him “Ser Sandor” just in passing, it just sounded stilted.


End file.
